This, a wannabe sequel to Belong, is about 90% finished. The part at the end is the end. There's just stuff missing in the middle. Sorry.
©1999 AuKestrel
“Screw the Iditarod, Fraser. I’m good. Let’s head to the Pole. Better yet, let’s do the Antarctic.”
I look back at him in some affection and amusement. These three months have wrought a physical change in Ray, it’s true. A full beard, blond, close trimmed; an Arctic tan with a layou’re of windburn; eyes bluer than ever, hair more experimental than ever since we had no scissors and were forced to trim it, from time to time, with my razor and my knife. And his body, always lean, is now compactly hard muscled. He can sling a full grown sled dog to his shoulders and trudge kilometres on snowshoes, as indeed we have both had to do. But the physical change is nothing compared to the mental change. He has met the challenge of the land and it has tempered him like iron in fire.
He still complains of the cold. Calories are a constant struggle and indeed I myself have dropped at least fifteen pounds, which he noticed. And, since he noticed, he has tried, a conscious effort, to eat more and has certainly encouraged me, without words, to do the same. But I feared the solitude, the isolation, the sheer immensity of the wilderness, would prove too much for him. I have never been more wrong, nor have I ever been happier to be wrong. He has said, once or twice since we started, that we were all we needed. I knew it was true for me. I know it is true for him, now.
It has been over two months since we located Franklin’s cairn. Seeing that was, I believe, the beginnings of the reality of this for Ray. He was taken aback. Very quiet that night. And the next day, confined to our tent by a storm, more serious than I had ever seen him, spending the day with three or four books and maps, as if he was no longer content to be a passenger, along for the ride; as if he were determined to be a partner. As indeed he has been. His instinct, always invaluable, led us, I am convinced, almost unerringly to the wreck of the ships; and then he convinced me that the current wisdom, that Franklin turned south, was mistaken. “That’s a modern notion,” he said then. “They weren’t thinking like that. They weren’t thinking failure. They were thinking, yeah, ships gone, but hell, they’ve seen natives, they got sleds, they got food, ships were frozen anyhow, the discovery’s the same whether it’s on foot or by boat.”
So we turned north. The sheer enormity of the task was daunting: endless miles of terrain, ice and snow metres thick - even if we stood atop Franklin’s last resting place, how would we know? But Ray was filled with a blazing determination that fired our days and, I confess, made the long nights all too short. And I was determined to give him what he wanted, however he wanted, however I could. Anything for this man who has proven to me that my destiny is not a lonely one, who has shown me what love can be... what it is.
Shortly thereafter we split the dogs into two teams upon the acquisition of a second sled. Sergeant Frobisher, like my father, has a predilection for freight dogs, Inuit sled dogs and malamutes. They eat a lot and they’re not racing dogs, but they’re strong and they have excellent instincts; and four of them can easily pull a one man sled all day at a steady pace. Ray caught on quickly and his dogs not only liked him, they respected him. His confidence increased exponentially, as did my happiness.
And in an incredible combination of circumstances involving a newly opened crevasse, a new dog in the lead position, and Ray’s grim refusal to ever let go of his sled - his sled, he says possessively, almost as if he’s talking about the GTO - and my equally grim refusal to ever lose Ray, he ended up suspended in said crevasse. The dogs dangled with him, the sled wedged precariously, and I was busy staking pitons to begin hauling them all up, when the sled tilted and shifted. I rushed to the edge to see what had happened. Ray had released himself from his harness and dropped onto a ledge about twenty feet down.
“Ray, what the hell are you doing?” Fear made my voice sharp, angry, and he glanced up in surprise.
“Fraser, you got it in hand. I just thought I saw something.”
I tried to control my sudden anger, fear-elicited. “Catch a rope, Ray.”
He stopped, sighed, put a hand up, shrugged into the loop I sent spiralling down. “‘Kay, Frase?”
“No, it’s not okay, you were incredibly foolish, but it’s better now.”
He pulled out a flashlight and moved farther down the ledge, picking his way carefully as it narrowed and darkened. The dogs whined, at me, or Ray, and the sled shifted again. Ray was too intent to even glance up as he crouched down and began chipping at the ice with his knife, similar to mine, acquired through an interesting trade about a month ago.
“What is it?”
“Something shiny. Something metal. Somethin’ - oh, wow...”
He stood up, a glint of metal in his mitten. “A coin, Fraser. An old one.”
“Come on up, Ray. Nice work.”
“Luck, Fraser. Like dumpin’ my sled in a crevasse wasn’t too greenhorn for words.”
“It happens to all of us, Ray.” I braced my feet as we spoke and he climbed, easily, quickly, out. Yes, we’d been through this before but it didn’t stop me from gathering him into a hug as he emerged or from kissing him, hard.
“Worry wart,” Ray said, returning the hug.
“You take too many risks,” I told him, which was entirely true.
“Oh, look who’s talking. You wanna see this or not? What is it? There’re more down there. Somethin’ that looked like leather frozen in the ice. I think we’re on the right track.”
“It’s a shilling. 1842. I think you’re right. Help me get the dogs up and we can go down with the camera.”
“Oh, this doesn’t rate another kiss?” He grinned at me, wickedly, and leaned in for a kiss almost before the words filtered into my brain.
I admit to moments of sheer sentimentality where Ray is concerned, and this was no exception. I said, “You don’t need to earn kisses, Ray,” as soon as he let me.
We had the dogs out and camp set up in short order, a safe distance from the crevasse, as we rigged our somewhat strange but effective pulley system for crevasse-descending. I took a sighting before we descended and Ray worked the calculations alongside me, muttering imprecations about his high school math teacher for the umpteenth time.
“If he’d just told me,” Ray said. “If he’d just said, you know, some day, guys, you could be in the Arctic with an unhinged Mountie and you will be glad I taught you this stuff about a tree and its shadow, I might’ve paid attention instead of doodling the words to... never mind.”
“What did you get?”
He held his pad out.
“Well, Ray, I’m glad to see we’re in North America this time.”
He grinned, that swift lightning grin that has proven well-nigh irresistible in these months, and said, “Told ya before, Fraser, I’m the beauty. You’re the brains.”
“You’ve got beauty and brains, Ray.”
“Keep talkin’, Frase. Keep talkin’.”
My voice got hoarse, suddenly. “You are everything.”
“No,” he said. “We’re everything. You and me. Us.”
And I must admit that for a few minutes we both forgot everything except the feel, the taste, the smell of each other. Diefenbaker, nosing along the edge of the crevasse with a whine, brought us back to our senses and somewhat shamefacedly I turned back to the ropes.
“Hey, Frase.”
“Yes, Ray?”
“Love you.”
I will never tire of hearing the words. And even after our months together they send a shiver up my spine and uncoil a warmth in my belly. So much so that it usually takes me a moment or two to respond in kind, and that time was no exception. “And I, you, Ray.”
“Let’s go, let’s get it on.” He popped his fists in the air, moved his feet, fast, at the edge of the crevasse.
“Harness.”
“Yeah, yeah, you too. How about Dief?”
“Dief’s insistence on going everywhere we go - and your indulgence of that whim - is very annoying.”
He grinned at me. We have had that conversation before, continue to have it today. He repeated himself. “How about Dief?”
“It’s a narrow ledge.”
“It’s two feet wide.”
Diefenbaker whined at us both, walked a few feet away, and dropped to the snow, his nose between his paws, pointedly ignoring us.
“Thank you kindly,” I said to him, and slung the camera down my neck as Ray began his descent.
A few moments later I had joined him and we took a few pictures of the site before Ray broke out his ice axe. He was right; there were additional coins, frozen in the same plane, and, further in, almost obscured by dirty ice, what appeared to a brown leather bag.
Without thinking further, I turned and said, “You are the luckiest damn bastard I have ever served with.”
“Benton Fraser, you are getting quite a mouth on you.”
“That would undoubtedly be your proximity.”
“I think it’s an overabundance of cold air that removes those inhibitions.”
“A plethora of Ray, perhaps.”
“You gonna chop, Mountie, or do we gotta call in the local, ah, preservationists?”
“No, Ray, we can remove enough for analysis. You know that.”
“Just jerkin’ your chain,” he said, another grin crossing his face, as he turned back and began chipping, gently.
In all, we freed seven coins, English, most with legible dates between 1830 and 1843. The bag was further in and we stopped to take two or three photos of the coins before continuing. Ray went back to using his knife, gently, delicately chipping around the bag, serious, intent.
He finally took his mitten off, using his bare fingers to reach in and scrape ice crystals from the bag. As he touched it, he jerked back with a startled gasp.
“It’s not a bag, Fraser.”
I pulled a mitten off in my teeth and reached in, almost before he finished speaking. He was right. It wasn’t a bag. I opened my mouth, letting my mitten fall into my hand, and said, “I think it’s a boot, Ray.”
“Jesus.”
“Precisely.”
We looked at each other for a long moment.
“Almost certainly a member of the expedition. I repeat, the luckiest damn bastard...”
We climbed out in silence. Fed the dogs in silence. Ate dinner in more silence. Ray was... incandescing. He was too full of joy, completion, something, to trust himself to words. I knew, a little, how he was feeling, and I tried to respect his mood of ecstasy. I doubted it was Franklin, of course, but it was a discovery. A more than worthwhile, more than exciting, more than complete discovery. After dinner he got up, abruptly, and left the tent. I suppressed my instincts to warn him to be careful. The moon was full, and he was competent and capable.
After a few minutes of silence I heard him shouting; baying, perhaps, is the correct term. I looked out the front of the tent and saw him standing on a rise, head back, the sound of joy rising from his toes like the colours in the sky behind him. Diefenbaker joined him and barked, twice. Ray looked down, laughed, and then looked over at the tent and saw me, waved at me to come out.
“C’mon, Frase, let’s freeze our lips together.”
I have never needed Ray to repeat such invitations and I had joined him before the echoes had time to die in the still air. As our lips met, he whispered, “I’m already hard,” which had, of course, an instantaneous effect on my own body despite the temperature. And it didn’t take too much lip-freezing to get Ray back in the tent, to get both of us in the bag, and both of us naked. We had tried various positions, conceivable and in, but that night I knew what he wanted, what I wanted: face to face, so used to each other that the position held no awkwardness after the initial shifting, and lubrication was almost an afterthought.
And the practice has made him incredibly good at this; he claims the same skill on my part; at any rate, that night, his joy succeeded in sparking a similar energy in me and we got very little actual rest.
The next day, after marking the area, we set off, after a brief argument, for a settlement we had passed two or three days ago. Within a week we were back at the site complete with a tribal representative, there to ensure that it was indeed the body of a European we were disturbing, and two archaeologists, and sundry permits. I took the opportunity to build an igloo. I knew Ray would appreciate it, and indeed it was both more private and more spacious than the tent.
The archaeologists, one male, one female, seemed oblivious to the fact that Ray and I were sharing an igloo. In fact, they seemed oblivious to almost everything, including meals and casual conversation; but their casual acceptance reassured Ray, and the matter of fact attitude about us displayed by Joe, the tribal representative, went a long way towards reconciling Ray to the idea of being around other people again. That and the excitement of the discovery, although the painstaking excavation chafed at his patience after a few days. I could see him getting restive; we took his sled out together to work off some steam, to find some real time alone, to talk. And as I checked the harnesses of the near wheeler before heading back, he said from behind me, “Screw the Iditarod, Fraser. I’m good. Let’s head to the Pole. Better yet, let’s do the Antarctic.”
“I’ve created a monster.”
In two strides he has covered the distance between us and pulls me into a hug. “Yeah. You have. So whaddaya say?”
“I say, first of all, that if I don’t get you to my cabin, some time soon, I will implode. And secondly, we’d better get back and see what Kim and Hal need us to do next.”
“So that’s a big Mountie ‘No’ on the Pole thing?”
“Is that a big Ray ‘No’ on the cabin thing?”
“Cabin?” he repeats, a husky note in his voice.
“Four solid walls. A wood stove. An outhouse. Possibly even... dare I say... a bath?”
“It’s a pretty sad commentary on my mindset nowadays that a fucking outhouse sounds like the last word in luxury. We won’t even go into bath territory except for me to tell you that you play dirty, Benton Fraser. Very dirty.”
With sudden determination and in a fit of insanity, I say, “Ray, if you want to try for the Pole, we will.”
He stares at me for a moment and then grins, shakes his head unbelievingly. “Jeez. You’re nuts, nuts, you know that? This cabin, does it have a bed? A real one?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t wait to get to your cabin, Frase.”
“Our cabin, Ray.”
“When do you think we can ditch Kim and Hal?”
“Ah. Hmmm.”
“That doesn’t sound like any time soon.”
“Ah, well, currently they do appreciate the presence of strong backs, Ray.”
“Yeah, to haul snow out of their endless shafts.”
“Yes, but as soon as they’ve worked their way down to the body, we can leave with a clear conscience.”
“Let’s haul snow and ass, then, Mountie. What the hell d’you mean, wasting precious time like this?” He pulls his goggles up from his neck and yells to the dogs as I swing onto the other side.
Oddly, when we get back to the site, Hal and Kim are standing around the crevasse, obviously waiting for us, and Joe is nowhere to be seen. “We’ve radioed for another team,” Kim says, without preamble. “Sonography equipment. There are at least three bodies. Probably more.”
“How the hell did you find this place?” Hal asks. They had listened to the story, perfunctorily, upon their arrival, but now they’re interested. Ray explains, haltingly at first, the dog sled situation and the glint that wasn’t ice that he saw. Kim asks how we got here, why we chose here, and Ray, who had at that point primarily been operating on instinct, allows me to intervene and explain our logic. There wasn’t much, really, but as so often happens when people listen to me at length, they soon began nodding and agreeing as if what I was saying made perfect sense.
During a reflective lull, Ray intervenes. “Where’s Joe?”
“He went back to see if anyone was interested in hauling snow for us,” Kim says.
Ray looks at me and grins. “I am all over that.”
“Yes, you’ve been a great help,” Hal says. “We didn’t expect quite so much enthusiasm.”
Yes, well, that’s Ray.
“So you guys settling in for the long haul?” Ray asks.
“Yes. Depending on the weather... but we could be here for months,” Kim says. “In fact, Fraser, we were hoping you might build us an igloo or two if you’re planning to leave.”
“Certainly. My pleasure. How many?”
“I suppose that depends on whether you two are staying,” Hal says.
“If Joe is successful in obtaining snow removers, we do have plans further south,” I say, trying very hard to avoid Ray’s eye and the blush I feel will be sure to follow eye contact with him.
“Then two more ought to be enough,” Hal says, apparently unaware of any undercurrents.
Later, as Ray helps me chop snow for an igloo, he says, jerking his head over his shoulder, “What’s up with that?”
“With what? Hal and Kim?”
“Yeah. I mean... they’re okay with us. I don’t get it.”
“What did you expect?”
He laughs a little. “Uh, I don’t know. Razzing. Embarrassment. ‘Don’t contaminate our site with your presence.’”
“Who’d haul snow?”
“Be serious, Fraser.”
“I can’t. I’ve forgotten how.”
He eyes me for a long minute and then, slowly, deliberately, packs a handful of snow into a snowball.
“I thought you wanted to build an igloo,” I say, stealthily squeezing my own handful of snow into a ball.
“I bet my aim’s pretty good from this range,” he says.
“I imagine so, yes. So getting out of range would be a plan.” Without further ado, I leap to my feet and run to cover behind the igloo wall as he gets me square in the back. Mine, following seconds later, catches him on the shoulder. As fast as we can make them, they fly, and soon Kim and Hal, attracted by the noise, have not only come to see what’s happening, they’ve joined in with enthusiasm. Diefenbaker isn’t far behind, running between camps, barking from time to time.
“The nice thing about Canada,” Ray calls from behind his and Hal’s hastily completed cover, “is that you never ever run out of ammo.”
Kim and I are packing snowballs as fast as we can. “Very good point, Ray.” I imagine they’re doing the same, but when I risk a look, I catch a snowball almost in the mouth. I duck back down, laughing, and call, “Good aim.”
“Hey, if there’s one thing a kid in Chicago knows, it’s snowballs,” Ray calls back.
Kim finishes one pyramid of snowballs and begins on another. “How old did you say you were?”
“Ten.”
“I’ll say.”
“And you?”
“I’m feeling nine right about now.”
We pack snowballs for a few more seconds and then we both risk another look, only to be greeted by more flying snow. “They’re not ready to rush us yet,” I say.
“Why don’t we rush them?”
“Ah, you have a very Mountie-like grasp of strategy, Dr. Westrall.”
“Thank you kindly, Corporal Fraser.”
Unfortunately my Chicago detective has not only an equally Mountie like grasp of strategy but an uncanny ability to predict the movement of the enemy, so our attack flurry is greeted with an enthusiastic counterattack. Then Ray leaps over his wall, his left arm piled with snowballs, and, shouting unintelligibly, leads his own attack. It takes Hal a few seconds more to respond than it would have taken me, thus giving Kim and me a chance to concentrate on Ray. But Ray’s aim is, as usual, deadly, and Hal resupplies him with snowballs as they mount their frontal attack. The fight degenerates rapidly into wild throwing and defensive pitching until Ray catches me in a one, two, left, right volley and Kim uses the last of our hastily stocked ammunition in an attempt to drive him off and begins scrabbling for more snow.
I however know the essence of attack is surprise and without warning I lunge for Ray’s feet and tackle him into the snow. He hits with a loud “Oof!” and begins laughing as I pin him. “No fair!”
Hal and Kim are circling each other warily, each down to the last few snowballs.
“Loser makes dinner,” Ray says, and twists up hard, unexpectedly, rolling us over and pinning me in turn. “Give, Mountie?”
“Never,” I say, with a grunt, and a shove of my hips.
“That is so turning me on, Fraser,” Ray whispers, barely audible. “You even make sweat look good.”
I feel the blush even as my mind formulates my next plan. “Loser makes dinner,” I call to Hal and Kim. “You’ve tasted my cooking and Ray’s...”
They look at each other and without a word turn their remaining snowballs on Ray, who throws his arms up over his head as he ducks and rolls off me under the unexpected onslaught.
“Fuckin’ sneaky Mountie! Fuckin’ treacherous archaeologists,” he yells, rolling in the snow and then collapsing, with the rest of us, into helpless laughter.
I crawl over to him and hug him, hard, forgetting the presence of others, knowing only that I love him and need to touch him. He hugs me back, unselfconsciously.
Kim and Hal, resting against each other, shake their heads. “This is a fine excuse not to finish the igloos,” Kim says. “I’m very disappointed. Snowball fights, indeed.”
Ray rolls into a sitting position. “I been bushwhacked. I gotta go make dinner. No way am I helping that Mountie make igloos now.” He cuffs me lightly on the shoulder.
“Sore loser.”
“You can say that again.” He rolls his shoulders. “Massage tonight, Frase?”
“Can we all get in line for those?” Kim says.
Ray looks at them, then at me, then at them again, puzzled. I know what he’s thinking. I know what he’s going to say. I tense involuntarily because I don’t want him to be hurt and I can’t think how to head this off.
“You guys pod people or something?”
“What do you mean, Ray?”
“Us, him an’ me, doesn’t bug you? You don’t care? You’re too polite to notice? What?”
I close my eyes, trying to fend off misery.
When I open them again, Hal and Ray are looking at each other steadily. “I can’t speak for Kim, but it’s none of my business, Ray.”
“Mine either,” Kim says.
I breathe again.
Ray shakes his head. “You’re all from another planet, right?”
“You’ve found us out. Tolerance, politeness, and lots of snow are the basic strategy for our plan of world domination,” Hal says.
“And hockey,” Ray says.
Hal sits up straight. “Hawks?”
“Hawks rule!”
“Come on. I’ll help you chop caribou or onions or whatever,” Hal says, getting to his feet, holding a hand out to help Ray up. Kim looks over at me.
“I’ve always wanted to learn to make an igloo. I suppose.”
We work in silence for a while, comfortable silence, chopping snow.
“We meant that,” Kim says.
I probably look surprised, because she adds, “We weren’t just saying that to make you feel comfortable.”
“I know.”
“Not that I don’t think it’s a waste.”
Those words take a moment to penetrate my brain, and when they do, I blush. She grins and flicks snow at me.
“Don’t get embarrassed on me. But you... you’re... Fraser, can I be frank?”
“Certainly.”
“We haven’t talked much, of course, but you can tell a lot about people just by watching them. You’re a bit... protective... of Ray. Aren’t you?”
I chop a moment longer, and then nod. I imagine any personal relationship would be difficult for me to talk about; certainly I have never talked about Victoria; but I know women do not have the same emotional restraints that men have. Possibly that is one reason I feel more comfortable with men although certainly no one can accuse Ray of having the handicap of my emotional restraints.
“The team they’re sending out to help us... they won’t be quite as accepting. We’re a fairly incestuous group up here, after all, poorly funded and at each other’s throats, professionally speaking, and we know each other, better than some of us would like. Hal and I will be the, ah, senior scientists here but... if your intention is to head south for a while, Ray would probably be more comfortable at your cabin than here once they arrive.”
“I see. And yes, our intent to head south was a serious one.”
“Ah. It depends, also, on how much - well, there’s going to be publicity, you know, even if these aren’t members of the Franklin expedition. They’re members of some expedition, and they’re well preserved, and so on, and so forth.”
“Ah. Well. The RCMP, in essence, funded this... manoeuvre; I’d imagine they would be more than happy to supply a spokesperson and so on and so forth.”
“I understand that, Fraser. But it’ll be a whole lot harder to interview you if you’re in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Not impossible. But harder.”
“Yes.” And resuming my position in the RCMP will be complicated enough without adding my personal relationship to the publicity surrounding such a discovery. On the other hand, this is Ray’s discovery, and he certainly deserves the credit for it; he doesn’t deserve to be pushed onto the back of the stove simply because he has the misfortune to be engaged in a same sex relationship with a Mountie.
She watches me with sympathy.
Footsteps crunch behind us.
“Why so serious?” Hal asks. “I’ve just been on the radio. They’re coming out tomorrow. Hope Joe rounded up some strong backs. We’re going to miss yours and Ray’s, Fraser.”
“What next?” Ray scrubs his hair with a towel. “You wanna go into Norman Wells, I’m betting.”
“I should. And then there’s Chicago.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess we should hit Norman Wells first before I call Mom and Dad. See how big the house is. It’s a good thing I got some furniture, Mountie.”
“Yes, it is. My heart chose wisely.”
He blushes, scarlet, unexpected. “Jesus, Frase! Pop those suckers out.”
“You have a way of mitigating my restraints.”
“I’ll say. How the hell do we get the furniture up here?”
“The easiest method will be to ship it to a depot down river and wait for spring breakup to bring it up by barge.”
“When’s that?”
“Sometime in May.”
“Oh, okay. We’re doing pretty good on timing, aren’t we. We should only have to bedroll for a couple of weeks.”
“What are you going to tell your parents?”
He sighs. “I don’t know, Frase. Don’t ask, don’t tell, huh? They don’t ask, I won’t tell. They might. My dad might. I’m leaving the GTO, after all.”
“We can bring it -”
“Nah. Never get parts for it, up here. I’ll give it back to him. Get your jeep fixed up. It’s not a problem, Frase, always wanted a jeep, always hard to justify in Chicago. I mean, whaddaya need a jeep for in Chicago?”
“You have a generous soul.”
“You sound like you love me or something.”
“More than words can describe. Please don’t bother to put any more clothes on...”
He looks up from the bed, where he sat to pull on socks, and his eyes widen, a laugh forming. “Oh, fuck...”
“Precisely.”
“Fraser.”
“Yes, Ray.”
“We’re going to have to put a shower in.”
“Whatever you want, Ray.”
“And a Starbuck’s.”
“I’ll submit a request.”
oOo
“Corporal Fraser! Constable Harrington. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. We understand you’ve found the Hand of Franklin!” Enthusiastic, fresh-faced, friendly. Second posting, at a guess. It could be worse.
“Ray discovered something, that’s true,” I say. “They’re not sure who or what, yet.”
“Ray?”
“Ah. Yes. Ray!” As he walks, slowly, to join us, I begin introductions. “Constable Harrington, Ray Kowalski, my friend and partner. Ray, Constable Harrington.”
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Harrington says again.
“Likewise,” Ray says, gruff but not unfriendly, as he extends a hand. Without hesitation Harrington clasps it with his own and with his other hand grasps Ray’s forearm and pumps enthusiastically. I sense rather than see Ray relax.
“Constable Turnbull is out. He’ll be back tomorrow. Our community constable comes in on Thursdays and Fridays, usually.”
“Turnbull?”
“Yes. You know him, I believe. He was quite excited to get this posting. He’s been here about two weeks.”
Ray and I look at each other, laughter and dread mingling.
“In fact, all he’s talked about since news of your discovery is that when you arrived we’d have enough for a team. A curling team.”
“That’s it, Fraser, deal’s off. You never said I’d have to do housework on ice to live here.”
Harrington turns a startled glance on him and then, realising Ray’s humour is on the dry side, grins.
“Constable Turnbull has methods of achieving his ends, Ray. It should be an interesting... battle of wills.”
“Would you like to look around, sir? We have three houses. Constable Turnbull’s been sleeping temporarily in my lounge; he wanted you to have first choice. This is the office, of course. We finally have a private office for the NCOIC.”
I can feel Ray relaxing by the moment. It’s quite possible Harrington doesn’t realise the extent of our partnership; I imagine Constable Turnbull will enlighten him further now that we’re here. But for now acquaintanceship can proceed, perhaps, without further awkwardness.
As he begins walking to the nearer empty house, talking nineteen to the dozen - he ought to get along quite well with Turnbull...onder the significance of Turnbull’s request. He knows; he was undoubtedly instrumental in formulating Ray’s application packet for long term residency. He knows and approves; and perhaps requested this posting not only because we are respected colleagues but because he regards us as friends and this was a way to not only return to the Territories that he loves as well but to help us. That would be the best case scenario; since the advent of Ray into my heart, my mind prefers such scenarios and indeed embraces them with ease and enthusiasm.
Harrington has brought up employment. Both feet first.
“No,” Ray’s saying. “Get my feet, look around.”
“Where are you going to live?”
“Fraser’s rentin’ me a room.”
Harrington looks over his shoulder at me, honestly surprised. “Oh.” Very innocent. “That’s a good idea. Share the rent and the bulk groceries. We all usually go in on a barge load. You’re a policeman, right?”
“Was.”
“Ah. Well. It’s possible the oil company might have a security position. If you know anything about snowmobile repair, that’s always a way to earn extra cash. Or barter.”
“Yes, Ray has a lot to learn about the substantial barter economy of the northwest.”
“I can fix cars. Fix engines. Rebuild ‘em.”
Harrington beams. No other word for it: he looks like a Wodehouse character. “I’m sure you’ll find a lot to do then. Starting with our vehicles.”
“You gotta maintain your own vehicles?”
“Why, yes. No motor pool: we’re it.”
“Cool. Yeah, be glad to help. What do you got?”
“Here’s the first house. We have three snowmobiles, two ATVs, one jeep, and a request, long standing, for a plane.”
“Who flies it?”
“No one. That’s why it’s long standing. This is the empty house on the compound; the other one’s off the compound, near the river, about three blocks away. That’s mine, right next door.”
We look through the house and then set off to the other one. I already know that Ray will be more comfortable in less proximity; and indeed the second house Harrington shows us is a bit larger, enough to make Constable Turnbull feel that I haven’t been slighted by having to walk three blocks to work. It has a large fenced yard and a kennel. Ray’s eyes light up at that.
“I was wondering what we’d do with the dogs.”
“Yes, the cabin is a bit far to feed them every day.”
“Those your dogs?” Harrington jerks his head over his shoulder.
“Yeah,” Ray says, proud, as he should be, of his team. His lead dog, in whom Ray recognised a great deal of potential, has become near to Ray’s heart and has been tolerated by Diefenbaker in the cabin at times.
“They’re not Alaskan sled dogs. They’re bigger.”
“Inuit freight dogs,” I intervene. Ray looks at me, fond exasperation.
“I know that, Frase.”
Too protective. Too concerned.
“Sorry, Ray. I think we’ll take this one, Constable, provided there’s no objection on your or Constable Turnbull’s part.”
“Oh, no, sir. You’re the NCOIC; you get first choice.”
Ray rolls his eyes. “Power corrupts.”
“Yes, you’d better keep a pin handy for reducing my ego to door-sized proportions.”
“When are you planning to report, sir?” Harrington asks as we head back to the office; some paperwork for Ray to sign has arrived and there are two or three messages from the RCMP regarding the discovery requiring responses.
“We need to go to Chicago for a week or so. Probably in two to three weeks.”
Ray looks at me, startled. Surely he didn’t think I would leave him to face Chicago on his own.
He did think that.
“Frase, you didn’t-”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ray.”
By the time we’ve left the office it is apparent the publicity is spiralling and it is with a great deal of reluctance that I take the ALPs phone Constable Harrington presses on me.
“You’ll need it, sir. The cell phones might not pick up a signal.”
“So?” Ray mutters, echoing instinctively my own thoughts.
“We’ll leave it in the barn,” I say, only half joking.
“Sir!”
He is very earnest. Ah, well. It could have been worse. Much worse.
“Tell Constable Turnbull we’re sorry to have missed him. We’ll see you soon.”
“Yes, sir. A pleasure to meet you, and you as well, Mr. Kowalski.”
“Uh, Ray. Jeez. I’m looking around for my dad.”
“Oh, thank you, Ray. Please call me Toby.”
As we start off, Ray standing in front of me on the runners, I say, “That went rather well.”
“I gotta face Turnbull and curling and you’re optimistic? Holy shit, Mountie. Not to mention clueless Tobermory.”
“He’s nice.”
“Yeah, he is. Hope he stays nice after he catches us necking.”
“I refuse to worry about it, Ray.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed you do a good ostrich imitation. Must be all this snow. Tempting to bury your head in, huh?”
I choose to bury my face in his neck instead of answering.
“Fraser, I’ve told you before not to kiss me while I’m driving.”
“I’m not kissing you, I’m trying - without much success, I might add, due to the layers of scarf - to lick you.”
“Well, now that I’ve had a real bath, I guess I can handle that.”
Silence prevails except for the sounds of the dogs and the swish of the runners over the snow.
“You’re the only guy I know who can get a hard on at twenty below.”
“You’re the only man I know who can incite one at twenty below.”
His short sharp laugh greets that sally.
“So you really coming to Chicago with me?”
“I can’t believe you think I wouldn’t. I didn’t hate Chicago, Ray. Especially after you came.”
“I don’t... my parents are just... I need to tell them but... sometimes I think they’d be happier... I know they’d be happier not knowing. For sure.”
“Ray, you tell them what you want to tell them, what you need to tell them. My ego is not tied up in your acknowledgment of our relationship. My ego is tied up in your acceptance of our relationship - and you’ve demonstrated that amply and to my complete satisfaction. I simply want to be there with you, for you. Furthermore don’t tell me you won’t appreciate my strong back insofar as packing is concerned.”
“True, Frase. I don’t travel quite as light as you, Mr. One Trunk.” He sighs. “Shit, Fraser.”
“I’m sorry, Ray.”
“It’s not your fault I got the hots for you.”
“Ray -”
“I just don’t want you to think I’m ashamed of you.”
Contrary to my usual policy, I call his dogs to a halt and send Diefenbaker along to Ray’s lead dog.
“Frase - “
“Ray. Dear God. You have given up everything to be with me. Even if you hadn’t, how could you think I think you are ashamed of me, simply because you acknowledge the realities of current cultural mores? That displays no shame; what that displays is logic and pragmatism. And, Ray, pragmatism is a cornerstone of your personality. It’s one of the many, many things I love about you.”
He’s blushing furiously, kicking the snow.
“Fuck, Fraser. I didn’t give up anything but an empty life for you. I’d give up more than a badge and a gun and Tony’s pizza for an unhinged Mountie in Frigidaire land. What we are... it’s too much. It’s too good. It’s something I never thought I’d have. Something I’d have to be damned stupid to pass up just because other people don’t get it.”
“I love you.”
“See? See, that’s it, right there. Friends. Partners. Us. The only reason I don’t want to tell my parents is because I don’t think they’ll be able to get beyond the guy part to the us part. It’ll hurt them. Disown me, welcome you with open arms, whatever - neither of those’ll happen but any way you slice it, they’ll be hurt; I can handle it but don’t ask, don’t tell might be best all the way around.”
oOo
“Constable, I have room. There is no reason for you to go to a hotel.”
“I appreciate that, sir, I simply don’t want to presume-”
Through the babel of voices, I catch Ray’s eye as he comes out of his bedroom. He is, startlingly, angry.
“What the hell is going on in here? Jesus Christ! Fraser pulled my ass out of more crevasses than you can shake a stick at, he’s saved my life fifteen different ways to Sunday-”
“And risked it,” Lieutenant Welsh murmurs.
“And I’ve risked his - anyway. And you think I’m gonna send him to a hotel because two guys can’t sleep in the same apartment without everyone getting bent outta shape that they’re queer? What people think, that’s their problem. Me, I know what friends are and I don’t care what people think. You’re bedding down here, Fraser, and I don’t wanna hear another word about it.”
Mrs. Kowalski is the first to break the stunned silence. She pats Ray’s cheek. “I’m proud to be your mother, Stanley.”
Close to my ear, a mere breath of sound, the lieutenant says, “Nothing like a frontal assault to carry the day. He learn that up north?”
“And besides, no one but me’ll put up with Dief,” Ray mutters, embarrassed now that anger is spent. And I know, suddenly, with a certainty that is entirely inner, that Ray would have said the same things and felt the same way had we not been lovers. No greater gift...
“Relax, Kowalski,” Welsh says briskly. “Maybe we were worried about the Mountie’s back.”
“He’s been sleeping on the ground for three months,” Ray says, almost but not quite a snap. “His back’s fine. No windows to jump out of in the Northwest Areas.”
“I said, relax, Detective. Let you have a few months off, discipline goes to pot. Constable, you got a bed at my place if you get tired of the floor. That’s all.”
I am finding it increasingly difficult to maintain a disinterested and unamused façade. “Thank you kindly, for your concern and for your offer, Lieutenant. And thank you kindly for your concern as well, Mr. and Mrs. Kowalski. But, as Ray has pointed out, I’ve slept on a bedroll for years and on somewhat lumpy, very cold snow, for the past three months. A floor in Chicago is, for me, the height of luxury and furthermore Ray and I will get far more done with me here than we otherwise would.”
oOo
“So... Ray. He looks... different.”
“Ah, yes. It often surprises people that one can tan in the Arctic.”
“No, I mean different inside. Talks about those dogs... about this crevasse or that pass, like he was born there, like he belongs there. I thought he was moving there to... to, ah, make you happy. Lot of what he is, is tied up in you. His mom and I have noticed that.”
Many ways to interpret that, many ways to respond. I choose a neutral, “Ah.”
“But he fits in. Doesn’t he?”
“To be candid, sir, the extent to which he has fit in has surprised me as well. He is an excellent musher. We have joked about the Iditarod. I wouldn’t be surprised if he actually ran it someday.”
“He’s a... he was a good cop.”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“But I never much... I didn’t care for that.”
“It’s a dangerous profession. Many parents wouldn’t.”
“But he’s good at it. What’s he going to do there? Honestly. He talks about snowmobile repair, security guard... make work?”
“No, sir. Anyone with mechanical skills is in high demand in the Territories. He’s not telling you that simply because he thinks you want to believe that.”
Sharp glance. “He... he’s been known to do that. He’s not a very good liar.”
“No, sir, he is not.”
“I’m not all that happy, mind you. It’s too far away, for one thing, and it’s damned cold, for another. But I think it beats the stink of cop work. I figure he won’t get a whole lot of that there.”
“Well, certainly, what police work is there is rather... different than that found in Chicago.”
“He going to be your partner there?”
“Unofficially, yes.”
“I understand you’ve gotten a promotion and you’re in charge. You renting Ray a room?”
Very thin ice. “Yes, sir. We had talked about sharing rent in Chicago as well but the high cost of moving to a two bedroom apartment made it easier to continue with the status quo.”
“You think renting Ray a room is... wise?”
“He’s my friend. My best friend. Any other course is unthinkable.” Let him make of that what he will; perhaps he too is a Kipling devotee and in any event I am as bad at lying as Ray is.
He stares at me a moment, grudging respect dawning. “Ray’s always had a knack for choosing his friends. You’re a tough nut, Benton.”
“Thank you, sir. I think.”
He sighs, sounding a great deal, suddenly, like Ray. “It’s unsettling to watch your children grow up. It’s even more unsettling to watch one of them turn into a goddamn Mountie in front of your eyes.”
Correctly interpreting the modifying adjective to be an approbative one, I smile. “If not a Mountie, certainly an Arctic explorer and a musher extraordinaire. I keep telling him he ought to keep a journal.”
He looks struck by that idea. “Yeah. Yeah, he should.”
“He’s somewhat of a Canadian celebrity, you know, although I doubt much publicity will filter down to the States.”
“Yeah? Let me give you a tip: he doesn’t interview well. He’s shy.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“I believe the RCMP will designate a spokesperson.”
“I believe you’re as big a smart ass as my son.”
“That is entirely possible, although it’s unlikely.”
oOo
“All right.” Ray snaps his cell phone closed and tosses it onto the couch. “Willie’s got Dief for three days. I am going to fuck you up, down, sideways and endways, in a bed, with sheets, with a shower twenty feet away.” He advances as he speaks; I back slowly towards his bedroom.
“I was unaware that you considered our... ah... sex life... unsatisfactory up until now.”
“Oh, Mountie, I think you’re well aware of how satisfied I am with our, ah, sex life. But it’s pretty hard to fantasise about putting you up against a wall when the wall is nylon.”
“A... wall?” My back is indeed against a wall now, Ray’s hands also against the wall, one on either side of my head.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “First fantasy, coming up. You, against a wall, with those ridiculous jodhpurs pulled down around your boots and your ass waiting for me underneath your uniform tunic.”
“The, ah, red serge is key?”
“Absolutely key.” His breath brushes my lips as my eyes close and I discover, literally, the meaning of the term weak kneed.
“I’d always... suspected it was the... uniform.”
“You were right. There’s a surprise.”
Hot breath, warm lips, writhing tongues... we haven’t kissed in hours and it seems like weeks. Hands already busy at waists... a sharp knock at the door scares us both almost out of our wits.
“Raymond! Your mother left her purse!”
“Dear God...”
“On second thought,” Ray growls, “there’s a lot to be said for solitary nylon tents. Jesus, Ben, get in the bathroom, get anywhere. You’ve got that 'I’m about to be fucked senseless' look that wouldn’t fool a cow, let alone my dad.”
Hard to clear my head, hard to repress a grin as I follow his advice, closing the bathroom door and leaning against it, trying to get my breath.
“Where’d she leave it?” I can hear Ray and his father, faintly.
“She’s not sure. Probably the kitchen. Where’d Benton go?”
“Bathroom, Dad.” I can see his eyes rolling.
“Oh.”
“We’re gonna start taking the furniture apart.”
I’m sometimes surprised, with that mouth, that Ray actually made it to adulthood; but the look of limpid innocence I feel sure accompanied that statement appears to have ignited no suspicion in the elder Mr. Kowalski’s breast, as he responds, mildly, “Yeah, you’ve got a lot of packing to do. Need any tools?”
“No, Dad, I’m good to go. Here it is. It was next to the couch.”
“Thanks. Call us if you need help.”
“Yeah; we’ll get boxes in the next day or two and if Mom wants to come argue with Fraser over the most efficient method of packing, that’s cool. I plan to stay out of it myself.”
“Wise decision, at least where your mother’s concerned.” He hesitates and then says, “Son. You... you like it there.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do, Dad.”
“You’re a good cop.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m a pretty good novice musher too. And I can rebuild engines like nobody’s business.”
“Yeah. Okay. As long as you’re sure.”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
“Great.”
“Call us when you get the boxes.”
“Will do.”
Footsteps, silence, more footsteps, and he flings the bathroom door open.
“From an anthropological standpoint, I’ve never overheard a more culturally revealing conversation.”
He grins. “Communication. His idea of communication was to bring home the paycheck every week. He was there, so was the paycheck. That said it all.”
“That said a great deal.”
“Yeah. It did.”
“And it may comfort you to know that your father communicates far better than mine did.”
“We’re pretty lucky we got such a good two-way going, aren’t we.”
“Incredibly.”
“He’s gotten better. I mean, a lot worse, but then a lot better. The GTO.”
“I was always aware that that was an apology, yes, Ray.”
“It was. It was a fucking huge apology. It’s why I can’t... don’t want to...”
“I know, Ray.”
“Besides, Fraser, I think he knows. He just doesn’t want to know.”
“I think you know a great deal about your father.”
“And my mom. It just... it just might never occur to her. I mean, I was married. So it just might never cross her mind. Well, you saw her. It might cross her mind in, you know, ten or fifteen years, but then again it might not.”
“I think you know a great deal about your mother as well.”
“So where were we?”
“I believe you mentioned a wall...”
“Good memory, Mountie. Let’s find a bigger... wall than the bathroom one.”
oOo
An empty apartment, a bedroll, a backpack, and Dief’s dish next to an empty pizza box. The moonlight shines through uncurtained windows turning Ray’s hair silver and the bedroll a ghostly grey. He stirs, turns, one hand reaching for me, finding empty space. Murmurs my name, struggling towards consciousness.
“Frase...”
“I’m here. Sleep.”
“Mmmm. Somethin’ wrong?”
“No.”
“You horny?”
“No. You?”
“Always.” He yawns, pushes his arms behind his head, elbows akimbo. “Spill, Frase. We’re almost there. Just gotta move my parents in tomorrow, and it’s back to the Great White Deep Freeze.”
“Yes.”
“More guilt?”
“Perhaps.”
“Love you.”
“I know.”
Another yawn. “I’m wiped out, Frase. Come back to bed. Sleep.”
“Go back to sleep, Ray.”
“Can’t. Can’t, without you. That’s what it’s all about, okay?”
“Ray, I don’t know if I am capable of doing, for you, what you are doing, for me.”
“It’s a moot point, Fraser. You probably are. Maybe you’re not. But there’s no point in worrying about it. This is how life ended up, for us. You gonna worry about it or you gonna enjoy it?”
“I dislike extremely the thought that I am being selfish and that you and your parents are the unwitting sacrifices on the altar of my happiness.”
“I’m a human sacrifice kinda guy.”
“Yes, so you’ve said. But perhaps your parents aren’t.”
“Hell, Fraser, far as my dad’s concerned it beats all hell outta me getting shot up in a warehouse or alley crack deal gone bad. Ditto for mom, she just won’t have me to iron for, that’s all. You are selfish. So’m I. And selfish is good. I am all over selfish. I am so selfishly happy to be with you it’s totally uncool. So fuck the guilt, Fraser, and come back to bed.”
“You have a gift for the pithy phrase.”
“What’s that mean in Canadian?”
“I love you.”
“Jesus. I’m never gonna learn all the different ways they have to say it, am I.”
“We have forever.”
“Forever. Yeah. What time is it, anyhow?”
“A little after one.”
“I’m still horny, so I guess there is an up side to these midnight conversations.”
“Definitely an up side.”
oOo
It takes rather less time than I estimated to move Ray’s parents into his, now their, apartment. Mrs. Kowalski waves away my offers to begin unpacking boxes, and since I tend to be rather single minded myself about such things, I don’t push her.
I go back downstairs to see Ray pull back into the parking lot after returning the truck. He jerks his head at me and without further thought Diefenbaker and I join him in the GTO.
“Gonna miss this.”
“Yes. Your parents plan to visit.”
“Yeah. And Welsh. And I know my dad’s cool about the GTO. He knows why I can’t take it. Not that I don’t want to, just that I can’t. It’s a wrench, leaving it, is all. We worked... we worked on this car.”
“I know.” I squeeze his hand.
“I know you know.” He squeezes back.
An unfamiliar car pulls into the lot, a black jeep. Ray’s father gets out. Ray and I get out too, Ray’s surprise evident. “Cool, Dad. Fraser’s dad had one, pretty vintage. I’m gonna work on it. It got shot up a few years ago.”
His father looks at neither of us as he pops the hood on the jeep. “Really? I can’t say I’m surprised to hear that. Anyway, this’ll get you around while you work on that one.”
“What? Dad! No!”
“Hey. A car for a car, Raymond. I been workin’ on this for a few weeks. Don’t know why I got it. It’s in pretty good shape. I couldn’t find an army one. Could’ve used your help... but I thought... thought you like surprises. I know you like jeeps.”
Ray is speechless. He and his dad both poke at the engine. Ray stands back and looks at it, walks around the whole thing.
“Nice paint job.”
“Seven coats. I’m looking for a hardtop for it. Ragtop’s in pretty good shape. I rustproofed the hell out of it. Figure Canada’s as wet as Chicago, huh, Benton?”
“Ah, yes, sir.”
“Jesus, Dad. Jesus. Thanks.”
His father hits him lightly on the arm. “Good surprise, huh.”
“Floored me. Looks like we’re doing a road trip, Fraser.”
“Outstanding, Ray.”
“And don’t let the Mountie get this one shot up.”
“I’ll try not to, Dad.”
“It wasn’t actually my fault, Mr. Kowalski. You see, the killers of my father...”
“Fraser. Not now. He hasn’t given me the keys yet.”
“Understood.”
oOo